McGee and Skinny Jeans Didn't Work
by hopelessromantic0707
Summary: My take on why Vance banned Halloween costumes. Inspired by an Abby comment in 7x06 "Code of Conduct." Note: This is my first NCIS story


**Author's Note: This is my first NCIS fic, so I'm sorry if it's horribly OOC. Feel free to let me know, just do so kindly. Hope you enjoy it…and PLEASE REVIEW.**

**Disclaimer: **Basically, I own nada. Everything mentioned in this one-shot, besides the plot, is owned or copyrighted by its respective creators, managers, publicists, songwriters, etc. Although who knows what would happen if I did own NCIS…

_Gibbs: No costumes this year Abs?_

_Abby: Oh…after last year's Jonas Brothers debacle, Vance banned costumes. McGee…skinny jeans…didn't work. _

Timothy McGee was sitting at his desk with a blank Word document open on the screen in front of him. He was supposed to be writing up his report on last week's case, but he was having a hard time concentrating on the task. It was the day before Halloween and his thoughts were filled with possible "tricks" Tony had thought up to try on his unsuspecting colleagues tomorrow. So far, the list included plastic spiders in his sandwich and a bloody fake finger coming out of the vending machine along with his Peanut M&Ms. He hoped Tony hadn't talked to Abby about the incident with her brother and the superglue…he shuddered and unconsciously reached up to smooth out his hair.

"Morning, McGee!" said a particularly peppy voice from a few inches behind him. The close proximity coupled with the high volume of the delivery caused McGee to jump.

"Abs! You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," Abby said in a more subdued tone. "You're more jumpy than me this morning…what's with you?"

"I…" he started but was cut off by Abby's startled gasp.

"Timothy McGee, did you steal the Caf-Pows that were in my refrigerator?" she asked, an accusing finger pointed at his chest, eyes wide with hurt. "Stealing the mother of all cupcakes was one thing, but stealing my Caf-Pow is crossing a line. I may have to get Gibbs involved." She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed him with an ice-cold glare.

"Abby, I would never even think of stealing your Caf-Pow," McGee said hurriedly in an effort to quell her fear as fast as possible. "I was thinking about all the pranks Tony could pull off tomorrow and I was distracted; hence the jumping."

"You're lucky I love you, Timmy," Abby said, reverting to her usual effervescent demeanor, "because, otherwise, I wouldn't be as willing to believe you."

"Oh, by the way, you're dressing up as Nick Jonas for Halloween, okay?" Abby said over her shoulder as she headed toward the elevator.

McGee sat in stunned silence for about five seconds, allowing his brain time to process this information. His croaked reply of "What?!" was met with a timid wave from Abby as the metal doors of the elevator closed around her.

****

Twenty minutes later, McGee found himself on his way to Abby's lab. He felt he was prepared to combat any twisted line of logic Abby threw at him as a means of explaining her desire for him to dress up as one-third of a boy band that was known for wearing tight jeans and lacking talent.

His complicated reasoning and carefully thought out arguments went out the window when he stepped off the elevator. The music emanating from the lab was not Abby's usual fare. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like…_I'm probably just imagining it _he thought to himself as he walked down the hallway.

McGee was not imagining anything, as he discovered a second later when he walked through the door of the lab. Abby had the music blasting at a volume approaching the level at which the human eardrum shattered…at least it felt that way. She was singing along tunelessly to the song and making up dance moves as she went along.

_I'm unusual_

_Not so typical_

_Way too smart to be waiting around_

_Tai Chi practicing_

_Snowboard champion_

_I could fix the flat on your car_

_I might even be a rock star_

She punctuated the "rock star" with a flourishing air guitar that McGee had taught her during a late-night game of Guitar Hero a few years back. Abby's air guitar was so enthusiastic that it sent her spinning in a circle.

"McGee!" she squealed, catching sight of him as she came out of her spin.

"Hey, Abs. Can we turn the music down a little?"

"Oh, yeah. It's kind of loud, isn't it?" she said, rushing over and silencing the music with a click of the mouse.

"Experimenting with your threshold for irritating pop music?"

"I heard this on the radio the other day. It's kind of catchy." McGee felt his mouth fall open in shock.

"Wait…you actually _like _a _Miley Cyrus_ song?" he questioned, not bothering to hide the disdain that naturally fell into his words.

"No need to act so scandalized, Timmy," Abby said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Besides, I said the song was catchy, it's not like I want to go to one of her concerts or something. If I ever go that far, I give you permission to slap me. However," she amended, holding up a finger for emphasis, "Miley is going to be next in the grand tradition of Abby Scuito Halloween costumes."

"If you feel the need to be Miley, Abby, go right ahead. I don't see any reason why I have to be a Jonas brother."

"Don't you read _People_, McGee?" Abby asked. She thought about her question for a few seconds then answered it herself. "I forgot. You're also Thom E. Gemcity, the best-selling novelist, so you probably don't read trashy magazines."

"Anyway," she continued, walking over to her mass spectrometer to check on the progress of whatever evidence lay inside, "if you did, you would know that Miley is the devoted girlfriend of one Nick Jonas. As you probably already know, I do not have a significant other at the moment…so you're my Nick."

"Why do you need a Nick?" McGee asked. "Can't you just be Miley? You didn't make me dress up like Joe DiMaggio when you were Marilyn Monroe a few years ago," he reasoned.

"A few years ago was a few years ago," she said, waving a hand and dismissing his comment. "How many things have I ever asked you to do for me, McGee?" she asked, pouting a little in order to make him feel sorry for her.

"Nothing recently but…" Before he could follow his thought through to its conclusion, Abby continued with her guilt trip.

"And how many times has my life been in danger because of you?" she accused.

"What?!" His question came out as an unmanly squeak. He cleared his throat. "Abby, are you seriously trying to blackmail me right now?"

"Answer the question, McGee."

"I don't believe…" Abby glared at him menacingly until he broke down. "Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Um," he was lost in thought for a minute, "two, I think."

"Sorry…wrong answer, Timmy. It's three."

"There was Landon trying to kill you because of my book. Oh, and the time I left you locked in OTTO for so long that you almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning," he rattled off succinctly. "What am I forgetting?" he asked.

"More like who. Michael Mauer, McGee," Abby admonished.

"Abby! I had absolutely nothing to do with your crazy stalker."

"Timmy, you left me alone and he attacked me."

"You opened the damn door."

"Fine. That instance is ruled inadmissible by reason of semantics. But there are still the two other instances to consider," she conceded.

"I guess I'm dressing up like Nick Jonas," he sighed.

"Thank you so much, Timmy!" Abby shrieked with delight, throwing her arms around his neck to give him a crushing hug that nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Abs…need…air," he wheezed.

She immediately broke off the hug, backing up a few steps. A tiny smile crossed her features. "Sometimes I forget my own strength."

****

McGee was pacing his living room carpet, holding his cordless phone in a vice-like grip. An hour ago, calling his sister for advice about the best places to purchase skinny jeans had seemed like a brilliant idea. Only now was he beginning to realize the utter insanity of his actions.

"Sarah, could you at least stop laughing long enough to answer my question?" he asked.

He had asked the same question five different ways over the last twenty minutes. The first four times had only been met with an increase in laughter. Apparently, the fifth time was the charm, though, because Sarah's breathless voice came over the line a few seconds later.

"I'm sorry, Tim. I know this is a serious situation for you. I just can't imagine you as a…a…Jonas brother…wearing skinny…jeans and a…sweater vest." At this point, Sarah let the laughter she had been trying to conceal break free and she dissolved into a fit of giggles once again.

"Sarah!" McGee said warningly.

"Yeah, I'm back. It's all good. No more laughing, cross my heart," she said in a placating tone. "Did you try H&M or Express?"

"I tried H&M, but their sizes are screwed up and I couldn't figure them out."

"Try Express….and Urban Outfitters. Then call me back. I'll be in my dorm till 9:30."

****

Two hours and $150 later, McGee walked out of the Express at the Georgetown Park Mall with a triumphant smile. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Sarah's number.

"Hey, it's me. I got the entire outfit."

"Come model it for me. Please, Tim? I'm dying here," Sarah pleaded.

"Nope, sorry," he said quickly. "I'm not risking it until tomorrow."

A thought suddenly crossed his mind. "Sarah, do you have a brown, curly men's wig, by any chance?"

"It just so happens that my friend Will and I dressed as Napoleon and Deb last year. He left his wig here and I never returned it."

"I can have it?"

"Absolutely…but first you have to model your outfit for me since you'll be here anyway."

"Fine," McGee huffed. "I'll be there in half an hour."

"Sounds good," Sarah said gleefully.

McGee hung up and headed into the nearest men's room to change.

****

Sarah McGee was lounging on her bed, a copy of _Jane Eyre _open in her lap and her ear buds securely in place, when she heard a knock at her door. She jumped up immediately, already knowing who it was.

The door swung open and she could only stare in horror.

"Oh my God, Tim," she breathed when she regained control of her voice. "You must really like this girl."

****

The next morning, McGee stepped cautiously off the elevator, hoping that Tony, Ziva and Gibbs weren't in the squad room yet. Luck was with him and the room was empty.

He put his gear down at his desk and made his way down to the lab.

Abby was standing in front of her computer, going over what looked to be a fingerprint match from AFIS. She was dressed in a denim knee-length skirt, cowboy boots and a long-sleeved light pink shirt. Her look was completed with a wavy brown wig that ended about four inches below her shoulders.

Sensing someone behind her, she turned around.

"You look amazing, Timmy!"

"You too, Abs," he said modestly.

"I know what we should do, McGee," Abby said, suddenly excited by her idea. "Hold on a sec," she told him, turning back to her computer screen. In a second, she had pulled up the music video for "Burnin' Up" on YouTube. She turned up the volume of her speakers before hitting the "Play" button.

_I'm hot, you're cold _

_You go around like you know_

_Who I am, but you don't_

_You've got me on my toes_

"Abby, what is this?" McGee yelled over the music.

Abby hit the "Pause" button and, turning around to face him, she rolled her eyes. "Really, Timmy?" she asked as if she were talking to a kindergartener. "I thought you went to MIT. This is a Jonas Brothers song."

"That makes sense, I guess."

"You need to get in character," Abby said in a serious tone. "Remember my "show" yesterday? Use that as an example."

"Abs, I don't think that's a good idea. These jeans are kind of tight. Strenuous activity might make them…do something extremely unflattering," he finished lamely.

"Don't be such a baby, McGee."

Abby sighed. "Here," she said, clicking the mouse a few times. "I'll even fast-forward to the chorus for you. That should be enough to satisfy my curiosity." She clicked "Play".

_I'm slipping into the lava_

_And I'm trying to keep from going under_

_Baby, who turned the temperature hotter_

_Cause I'm burnin' up, burnin up for you, baby_

McGee tried his best to dance and sing along with the music. As Abby watched him, she was reminded of Albert Brennaman from _Hitch_ and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a laugh. She also noticed that McGee was a fan of the "white man's overbite."

As he reached the end of the chorus, McGee attempted to end with a bang, much the way Abby had with her air guitar. He momentarily forgot his restrictive clothing and sank down into the splits, raising both arms and giving the room the universal symbol for "rock on."

He was brought back to reality seconds later by a sharp pain in his right calf and a horrifying ripping sound. Unsure of what to do next, he remained in the same position, his face becoming redder with the passage of time.

"Are you all right, Timmy?" Abby asked, moving quickly to his side. "Do you need help?"

"I'm almost positive I can't stand up by myself at the moment, so, yes, help would be greatly appreciated," he managed to gasp out.

As Abby was helping McGee to his feet, they heard the elevator arrive and what sounded like an extremely large group of people exiting it.

The noise was getting louder with each second and, eventually, Director Vance's voice came out of the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching the forensics lab, where our resident forensic scientist, Ms. Abigail Scuito, does her…"

Vance was rendered speechless at the sight of McGee's boxers peeking out through the split seam at the back of his jeans. He cleared his throat and fought to regain his composure.

"…work. This is Special Agent Timothy McGee, who appears to have had some sort of mishap while assisting Ms. Scuito." He glared at them both before continuing.

"If you'll all follow me, we'll proceed to Autopsy."

As Vance turned to go, he whispered threateningly, "You two. My office. Twenty minutes."

McGee and Abby watched him go with matching expressions of horror.

****

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't write a punitive letter with your name on it, McGee," Vance yelled.

McGee and Abby were standing opposite Vance, glad for the desk that was between them. The two of them were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in an effort to provide moral support for one another without talking.

"Sir, we were fooling around. We had no idea that the SecNav tour was this morning," McGee stammered helplessly. Turning his face toward Abby, he mouthed, _did you know?_

She vigorously shook her head from side to side to indicate she had had no idea about the tour.

"Sir…Leon…Director Vance," Abby mumbled, looking down at her cowboy boots, "the costume thing was all my idea." The director narrowed his eyes.

"I'll be fast, I promise," she continued. "McGee wouldn't have dressed up if I hadn't guilt tripped him into it. You can write me a punitive letter."

"I have a better idea, Ms Scuito," Director Vance replied.

****

A few minutes later, the following email was sent out:

**Attn: All NCIS Personnel**

_Due to a recent indiscretion involving two of your colleagues, wearing Halloween costumes in the building is prohibited until further notice._

_Thank you all for your cooperation._

_Sincerely, _

**Leon Vance**

_Director_

Fin


End file.
